


Unexpected Heats and Pack Dynamics

by TerinAngel



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Omega!Cor Leonis, Pack Dynamics, non-sexual heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-23 23:57:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14943756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerinAngel/pseuds/TerinAngel
Summary: “Can we… stay here for a few days?”The question takes all of his companions by surprise, and Cor shrinks in on himself a bit as they all turn as one to stare at him. He knows how out of character he looks and sounds, and he hates it.





	Unexpected Heats and Pack Dynamics

“Can we… stay here for a few days?”

The question takes all of his companions by surprise, and Cor shrinks in on himself a bit as they all turn as one to stare at him. He knows how out of character he looks and sounds, and he hates it. As soon as they’d arrived at the hotel, Cor had been overwhelmed by the noise of the small town, and the scents of strangers that clung to the walls of their room, and had sequestered himself in a chair in a corner as far from the others as he could manage, hoping against hope that these symptoms weren’t what he thought they were.

But they were, because the Astrals had no mercy. He should have noticed sooner. He should have noticed when he became hyper aware of Regis’ hand on his shoulder three days ago, after they’d defeated a Coeurl that had taken up residence in one of the Royal Tombs. He should have noticed when he’d picked up on a sabertusk pack’s ambush by scent alone the day before that. He should have noticed almost a week ago, when he’d stopped feeling full, no matter how much food Weskham put in front of him, insisting he needed it more than the others because he was still growing. 

But he hadn’t noticed, and now he was curled up in a chair, with his knees clutched to his chest like a child, having to ask that they halt their important quest to collect Regis’ Royal Arms, all so he could ride out his _heat._

He can’t bring himself to look away from the floor of the hotel room, so he misses the round of concerned looks and hand gestures his companions give each other. “Is something wrong, Cor,” Regis finally asks, and Cor feels heat prickle down his spine at the sound of the Prince’s voice. He shakes his head and presses his forehead harder against his knees, and does his best not to be embarrassed by his body’s reactions. Regis is an Alpha, young and strong and kind and painfully handsome. Anyone would have the same reaction to him, even out of heat.

It doesn’t stop him from hoping that the Prince does not come any closer to him, as he’s sure he would not survive the shame of doing something embarrassing, like _crooning_ , or worse, _asking for attention_.

Cor hears movement, and he looks up enough to see Cid’s boots as the Beta approaches him. “Don’t give us any of that,” the mechanic says, his no-nonsense tone missing some of its usual bite. “None of us are buyin’ it.” And before Cor can stop him, Cid has a hand on his forehead, feeling the heat radiating from his skin and the sweat that was starting to bead along his hairline. Cid just grunts and half turns to the others, hand still in place. “Fever, just like I told y’all. He’s sick.” Cor blinks, Cid’s words taking a moment to sink in. He’s not sick. He’s in heat. Can’t they tell?

“I’m not sick,” he blurts out, only to be met with a round of disbelieving looks.

“You’re runnin’ a fever,” Cid snapped, finally pulling his hand away from Cor.

“You’ve been eating more than Clarus,” Weskham points out, gesturing towards the Prince’s Shield.

“And sleeping more than Regis,” Clarus chimed in, ignoring the affronted glare he gets from said Prince. 

“Cor, there’s no shame in telling us if you don’t feel well,” Regis says gently. “We have time to spare. We’ll get you some medicine, spend a day or two resting, and –“

“I’m going into heat,” Cor snapped, and if he were in a better mindset he would appreciate the sight of Regis’ mouth hanging open inelegantly at his interruption. He glares around at the others, only to find varying looks of confusion on their faces. “I’m not sick,” he states again, curling in on himself tighter. “I’m going into heat.”

Silence. Cid looks like Cor just smacked him over the head with a wrench. Weskham is blinking rapidly, like Cor just spoke a foreign language that he didn’t know. Clarus is frowning, and shaking his head, before frowning at Cor even harder. And Regis… Regis is opening and closing his mouth like a fish, looking completely stunned. And then his Prince lets out the most _un-Alpha-like squeak_ Cor has ever heard.

“ _What?!”_

*

Apparently, none of his friends knew he was an Omega.

How they didn’t know, Cor isn’t sure. It’s in his Crownsguard file. His instructors had brought up concerns about it constantly, until Cor had gotten good enough to beat them all into the training mats. He didn’t make any effort to hide the fact that he took a week off every six months, like every other Omega in the Citadel. He’d been teased and ridiculed, disparaged and held back because of the fact that he was an Omega, and he’d fought hard to rise above it all. At any other time, he might have felt some pride at the fact that he’d risen so far above it, his Prince and closest friends didn’t realize he was an Omega.

Right now though, all he can feel is frustration. And hunger. And exhaustion. And an insatiable urge to hoard every blanket and pillow in the world.

They end up leaving the hotel. The revelation that Cor is not only an Omega, but an Omega going into heat has set off every protective instinct Clarus and Regis have, and Weskham decided they would be better off at a Haven close to town than trapped in a hotel room where the Alphas could be set off by every little noise and scent. While Wesk explains the situation to the hotel owner, Cid wastes no time in bundling Cor into the back of the Regalia, before jogging off to grab supplies from the store, leaving Cor in the care of two Alphas who were simultaneously having emotional break downs, and desperate to make him comfortable.

If Regis asked him if he was fine _one more time_ , Cor was going to punch him.

Luckily, his Prince is saved by the timely return of Cid and Wesk, who shove the confused Alphas towards the front of the car and flank Cor in the back seat. Cor tries to tell himself he is not effected by their looks of confusion and hurt, and he almost succeeds. He’s less successful at remaining unaffected when Regis _whines_ plaintively at him, glancing between him and Wesk. 

_“Regis,”_ Wesk says pointedly, his voice low with the tones of a Beta that _would not be ignored,_ and it’s enough to stop Cor from responding with his own pleading whine for the Prince to _stop standing around_ and _get over here._ He turns as much as his seatbelt would allow, burying his face into Cid’s leather jacket, taking in the scent of motor oil and dust and _Beta_ until his head feels clearer. Cid’s fingers find their way into his hair, and Wesk’s hand comes up to rub circles against his shoulder blades, and Cor finds himself relaxing, until the front door to the Regalia snaps shut with more force than necessary, and the acidic scent of Regis’ frustration fills the air. Cor couldn’t have stop the sound that escaped him if he’d tried, a low, soothing _croon_ tearing out of his throat, even as he refuses to pull away from Cid. Regis’ scent dies down like he’s been doused in water, and his Prince mutters an apology as he puts the Regalia in drive, pulling out into the road and making for the Haven.

*

They make it to the Haven without incident, and camp starts going up in record time. Cor would be a little disgruntled that they move faster for _his heat_ than they do for little things like _rain_ , but clearly heat pheromones have some kind of mind altering effect on anyone who isn’t an Omega, because the others aren’t letting him help set up camp _at all._

Logically, he knows this is because their instincts are driving them to keep Cor safe and comfortable while he’s at his most vulnerable, and _not_ because they think he can’t do tasks that he’s always been capable of before, now that they know he’s an Omega. 

His approaching heat is making it very difficult to see things logically.

He scrambles inside the tent as soon as Clarus finishes putting it up, and relaxes as their combines scents wash over him. If he focuses, he can pick out Regis’ cologne, Clarus’ sweat, Weskham’s soap, and the smell of grease and hot metal that always seems to follow Cid, but mostly it smells like _pack_ , and _his_ , and _safe,_ and something primal in Cor that had been tied in nervous knots ever since he realized what was happening to him relaxes. He was safe here. His pack cared for him, and respected him, and would never turn him out just because he wasn’t what they were expecting him to be. He starts pulling his things out of the Armiger, arranging them around the tent to his liking, only…

Only there was another problem, now that the fear of being turned away had been dismissed.

Cor was an Omega going into heat.

And he had _nothing to nest with._

He’d already pulled out all of his clothes, along with his blanket and pillow, and he spends as much time as he can stand fussing with them, trying to turn them into a nest that will satisfy his instincts. He shuffles them around. He moves them from one corner of the tent to the other and back. But nothing stops the dismay he feels as, despite his best efforts, the tent continues to feel despairingly _empty._

Cid suddenly sticks his head inside the tent, and Cor jumps. And then he flushes with horror and embarrassment as he realizes he’s been letting out a low, miserable sound of _distress_ for who knows how long. Luckily, Cid doesn’t comment, just looks around the tent to find what’s bothering Cor, and his eyes light up when he sees Cor’s pathetic attempts at a nest. He ducks back out, and there’s shuffling and worried voices just beyond the tent flap, and Cor is tempted to follow Cid out, just to find out what’s going on, when several bags are shoved into the tent, along with Cid’s jacket. 

The jacket immediately finds it’s way into a place of pride near Cor’s pillow. Cor lets out a sound of pure, embarrassing _delight_ that he can’t bring himself to care if the others hear when he sees that the bags hold two new pillows and several fleece blankets. He wastes no time in adding them to his nest, and when he steps back next, he’s mostly pleased. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do for now.

Shuffling feet and Weskham’s warning call of his Prince’s name draw Cor’s attention away from satisfying thoughts of his nest, and he glares at the tent flap, daring Regis to do… what ever it is his Prince is doing. Cor wasn’t so far into his heat that he’d lost his senses. He knew Regis would rather gut himself with his own sword than hurt Cor. He knew Regis wasn’t the kind of Alpha to force himself on any Omega he fancied. He knew Regis was pack. But Regis hadn’t known Cor was an Omega, and now his entire behavior had changed, and Cor wasn’t in the mood to deal with a smothering, over protective Alpha. Cor shuffled towards the back of the tent as the flaps opened, because if he was anywhere near Regis when the man started up on his damn fussing again, Cor would do bodily harm to his Prince. 

Only, instead of Regis entering, a pillow that smelled distinctly like Regis was tossed in, and the flaps shut again. Cor crept forward, cautiously picking up the pillow. Regis was the only member of their group that had brought extra bedding when they had left Insomnia, and he was notoriously over protective of it. For him to share at all, let alone now… Cor buried his face into the pillow, reveling in the scent of his Prince, and another knot of tension loosened inside of him.

Eventually he crawled into his nest and fell asleep, one hand clutching Regis’ pillow to his chest, the other curled around the sleeve of Cid’s jacket.

*

Cor wakes up hot, and grumpy, and sore, with his stomach trying to eat his spine, and the smell of Weskham’s cooking in the air, and before he can stop himself, he’s making a sound he’s never made before.

It’s a sound he’s _heard_ before. It’s a sound mostly Omega’s make, though he’s heard a few Beta’s make it too. It’s a kind of half croon, half trill that generally means _come here and take care of me_ to any pack mates of the one making the sound. It’s normal, and not weird in any way, and Cor is so embarrassed, because it comes out so _needy_ that the tent flaps practically fly open to admit Regis like the Prince has been waiting for this moment all day.

Except apparently, hearing Cor make a sound so typically _Omega_ has robbed Regis of the ability to _speak_ , because instead of doing anything useful, he hovers at the edge of Cor’s nest, making quiet, inarticulate sounds, with his hands twitching like he doesn’t know what to do with them, and looking completely out of his depth.

Cor knows he should find this amusing.

Cor is not in the mood to be amused, and so he beckons Regis closer, and punches him in the shoulder as hard as he can.

Luckily, this Cor-like behavior seems to knock his Prince out of whatever shock induced stupor he had fallen into. He leans back, rubbing at his shoulder, but he also smiles ruefully down at Cor, who just glares back at him. “What can I do, Cor? What do you need,” his Prince finally asks, and he looks so damn _hopeful_ and _earnest_ that Cor feels his irritation slipping away against his will. 

A sharp cramp low in his belly makes him grunt and curl in on himself, and he barely manages to grind out “Painkillers,” before Regis reaches into the Armiger and pulls out the requested pills and a bottle of water. Cor downs the pills and half of the water before burying himself back under his blankets in spite of how warm he is. His heat is starting up in earnest now, the symptoms that were once mild annoyances now turning into full-blown irritants. If he kept taking them on time, the painkillers would deal with the worst of his cramps, and the growing headache he could feel forming behind his eyes, but he knew from experience that no amount of food would be enough to satisfy him, Shiva herself could not convince his body to stop trying to set itself on fire, and sleep would eventually elude him no matter how exhausted he was.

He refused to think about what would happen later in his heat, when he started getting horny. He _refused._

“Wesk is making Chickatrice bowls,” Regis says soothingly as he shuffles closer. “They should be ready in a bit.” Cor hummed an acknowledgement, reaching behind him to grab Regis’ pillow so he could curl around it. The first day of his heat is always the worst, and as hungry as he is, all he wants to do right now is stay in his nest and wait for the painkillers to kick in.

He expects Regis to leave when it becomes obvious Cor isn’t up for conversation. Instead, his Prince continues to inch closer, until he’s sitting right beside Cor in his nest, and Cor should be protesting, because he’s never let anyone into his nest before, but this is _Regis_ , and Regis is _pack_ , so he allows it. Eventually, Regis’ fingers find their way into his hair, stroking through the short strands gently, and while it’s not enough to banish the headache pounding at his eyes, it is soothing enough to let Cor doze off.

Cor isn’t sure how long he spends in a relaxed haze. It couldn’t have been long, because suddenly, Weskham’s voice is calling loudly, and the tent flap snaps open, and Regis is curled over him protectively, teeth bared at his retainer. Cor blinked numbly as the two stared each other down, the part of him that was still Cor telling him to smack Regis for treating Wesk like a threat, while the part of him that was firmly _Omega-Cor_ was crooning at what a good Alpha Regis was being. The tension breaks when Cor catches another strong whiff of food, and his stomach growls loudly. Regis and Weskham blink in unison, looking at each other like they just realized whom it was they were seeing. Regis flushed bright red and muttered an apology, and Wesk shook his head, chuckling softly and assuring their Prince that all was well and food was ready whenever they wanted it.

They both laugh when Cor nearly runs Wesk over on his way out of the tent. 

*

Cid, Six bless his thoughtful, down to Eos self, already has a bowl prepped and ready for Cor before he reaches the fire, and hands it over without so much as a word. Cor inhales about half of the bowl in the time it takes Regis and Wesk to join them, and he barely has it in him to wait until they both have food of their own before he dives in for seconds. He manages to eat his second bowl slower, but he’s still done long before the others, and he lets out an affronted noise when Cid swats his hand away as he goes in for a third portion. 

Regis doesn’t manage to stifle his growl; whether it’s because Cid is denying Cor food, or because the Beta touched Cor is irrelevant. Cid just rolls his eyes at Regis, before turning back to his own food. “He needs to slow down, Reggie,” he sighs when Regis continues to growl. “Food won’t do him any good if he eats so fast he makes himself sick.” Regis grumbles a bit more and scoots closer to Cor, reaching for his bowl to refill it himself, but Cid has a point, and Cor snatches his bowl up and moves to sit beside Wesk. Regis lets out a confused, unhappy whine, and Cor nearly races back over to press into his side, but somehow he manages to resist.

Wesk rolls his eyes and reaches over to tug on Regis’ hair. “He’s allowed to have space, Regis,” he says, and Regis shakes his head sharply, like he’s trying to clear it, before nodding and continuing to eat.

It’s as Cid begins to tease Regis about how over protective he’s being that Cor finally realizes their short a person.

Clarus is nowhere to be seen. Which is strange, because the large Alpha is never far from Regis’ side. He should have been right outside the tent along with Regis, should have been sitting at Regis’ side as they ate, _should have been growling at Cid along with Regis when the Beta stopped him from getting food –_

“Where’s Clarus,” he asked, ruthlessly trampling his Omega instincts into the ground. He did not need Clarus and Regis to make sure he got enough food. He did not _need_ Alphas taking care of him during his heat. He _did not._ The others go silent, and Cor begins to feel worry and something else, something distinctly _Omega_ well up in his chest. “Where’s Clarus,” he asks again, and he’s ashamed when a desperate, panicky trill slips past his teeth at the end of his sentence. Clarus was supposed to be here. Clarus wasn’t here. He did not _need_ Clarus to be here.

_He desperately wants Clarus to be here._

The looks the others trade are telling enough, and Cor suddenly finds he has no more appetite. He gets up and heads back into the tent, ignoring the call from Regis to wait. He curls up in his nest, brings all of his blankets up over his head, adds mood swings to the list of things he hates about his heats, and absolutely does _not_ let himself cry about one of his Alpha’s leaving him.

*

Cor wakes up slowly to his head pounding, Cid’s snoring, and the sound of muffled footsteps outside the tent. He’d been so upset about Clarus’ absence last night, he’d forgotten to take his painkillers before sleeping, and his body was letting him know it. The cramps, at least, weren’t awful, and Cor suspected that had something to do with the line of heat that was Regis curled around his back, one arm slung over Cor’s waist protectively. Cid and Wesk had opted to sleep closer to the tent flap, giving the Alpha and Omega as much room as the tent would allow. Cor almost allows himself to close his eyes and bask in the warmth and scent and _comfort_ of Regis, when he hears the footsteps again.

None of the others so much as twitch at the sound, which means there’s only one person it could be.

Transferring Regis’ unconscious affections onto something, or some _one,_ else is a skill Cor learned early on their trip, and it’s the work of moments to have Regis snuggled up with Cor’s pillow as Cor extracts himself from his nest. He takes a moment to snag Cid’s jacket from his nest before slipping out past Cid and Wesk.

Clarus is seated at the edge of the Haven, his back towards the tent as he watches the sun rise. Cor takes a moment to wrap Cid’s jacket around his shoulders to ward off the morning chill, before stalking over to the Alpha and sitting down next to him. Clarus doesn’t move, doesn’t even seem to _breath_ , and Cor lets all of his Omega hurt bubble up and wrap itself in the righteous indignation that Cid’s scent inspires. “Where the hell did you go,” he spits out, when he wants to ask ‘ _Why did you leave’_ and _‘Why did you come back_ ’.

“I thought you could use some space,” Clarus says, still not looking at him, and Cor wants to punch him so bad.

So he does.

Clarus takes the hit with barely a grunt, but he finally looks at Cor, so Cor counts it as a victory.

It takes a while, but Clarus eventually breaks under Cor’s glare, shoulders hunching in as he sighs like the world is resting on them. “I’m an _Amicitia,_ Cor,” he says, as though that explains everything, and Cor glares at him harder. “I wasn’t just born an Alpha, I was raised to be the _most Alpha_ I could be. I didn’t want –“ He looks away and clenches his fists, and Cor keeps glaring, though he thinks he’s starting to understand. He still want’s Clarus to say it, though. “I don’t want to ruin everything because I can’t keep my instincts in check.”

Clarus was an idiot. “You’re an idiot.” Clarus looks back at him with a glare and Cor continues to glare right back. “You are an idiot, and heat or not, I should kick your ass. Just because I’m in heat doesn’t make you impossible to resist. If you’re pissing me off, I’m not going to hold back, I’m going to punch you. The same goes for Regis, and Cid, and Weskham. I don’t care if you’re the most _Alpha_ Alpha to ever live. I care that you left.”

They sit in silence for a while longer before Clarus hesitantly lifted his arm and Cor snuggled up under it. “I am an idiot, aren’t I,” Clarus asked.

“Yep. And if you ever leave again, I will hunt you down like an Anak. Heat or no heat.”

Clarus laughed, and when Weskham left the tent later to start breakfast, he found them still curled up together.

* 

Cor inhales breakfast at a marginally slower pace than he inhaled dinner, which means he’s half way through his third helping when Regis finally decides to grace them with his conscious presence.

“Why did you turn the alarm on my phone back on, Weskham,” their Prince grumbled, even as he accepted his breakfast.

“It’s healthy to have a regular sleeping schedule, your Highness.”

Regis made no further comment, only stalking over to plaster himself against Cor’s free side. Cor allowed it, in part because Regis always half draped himself over his companions when he first woke up, but mostly because he knew Regis would let him snack off his plate, unlike Clarus, who was on his other side and jealously guarding what remained of his breakfast with his fork. Cid laughed and Wesk rolled his eyes, and it’s almost as if things are normal.

“We’ll need to get more supplies.” Everyone looks up at Wesk and Cor feels a sinking sensation in his gut that makes him press closer to Regis. “I didn’t calculate enough for a heat,” he says apologetically, and Cor dearly wishes Titan would open up a hole in Eos right beneath him. “I’ll stay here with Cor. We don’t have enough gil to cover the cost of buying everything, so Regis and Clarus will go hunting and scavenging, while Cid heads back to town.”

Cor does not make a distressed noise. He _does not_ , because as nice as it is to have a pack watching over him during his heat, he doesn’t _need_ them all here all the time.

This does not stop his pheromones from telling all of Eos exactly what _Omega-Cor_ thinks of Weskham’s plan, and he’s ashamed to notice that, despite his best efforts, his hands are shaking and his eyes are burning.

Damn hormonal mood swings.

Cor ends up retreating back to his nest once he’s done eating, and it takes Wesk over an hour to chase the others off. Clarus and Regis keep finding _just one more thing_ to help Weskham with before heading out, until Wesk makes some very creative threats that send the two Alphas scurrying away from the Haven. Cid, on the other hand, blatantly defies Weskham’s orders by sitting beside Cor’s nest reading a book, and meets all of Wesk’s objections with the fact that town is less than an hour away, and it wouldn’t take him long to pick up what they needed, so it wouldn’t hurt to wait for just a bit, would it?

Wesk eventually wins, because while Cid may have good old-fashioned stubbornness, Weskham has been trained in how to deal with _royal_ stubbornness. Cid pins open the tent flaps, so Cor can have some sunlight and fresh air, ruffles Cor’s short hair, and then leisurely strolls off in the direction of the Regalia while whistling a jaunty tune, as though to tell Wesk that he may be going, but it was on his own damn terms. Wesk just shakes his head and continues to move about the Haven doing whatever Clarus and Regis hadn’t managed to do in their stalling. Cor just curls up in his nest, now minus Cid’s jacket, and _does not_ think about the absence of most of his pack.

*

“Does the King know?”

Cor stretches lazily before rolling over to get a better look at Wesk. At some point, the man had given up all pretenses of keeping busy and had taken Cid’s place beside Cor. Cid himself still wasn’t back, which meant Cor hadn’t been dozing for that long, or that Cid was taking longer than expected and the heat was ruining Cor’s ability to track time. “About you being an Omega,” the Beta amends, correctly guessing that, in his state, Cor wasn’t up to figuring out what the man meant.

“I would think the King knows. It’s in my Crownsguard file,” Cor responds, sighing as Weskham runs his fingers through Cor’s hair. Later, when he’s more aware of himself, he’ll have to remember to ask why they all keep doing that. For now, the physical contact feels Astral-sent, and loosens some of the tension he feels at the absence of most of his pack mates.

“I know it’s in your file, Cor. I looked at it, before we agreed to bringing you along.” That made no sense. If Weskham had seen his file, then why had he been so shocked when Cor had announced he was an Omega? As though reading his thoughts, Wesk sighed and shook his head, looking almost as embarrassed as Cor felt about the whole situation. “I… thought it was a typo. Clerical errors happen, after all.” How one managed to get ‘Omega’ from ‘Alpha’ or ‘Beta’, Cor didn’t know. “And you didn’t give much of a reason for us to believe otherwise. You’re not exactly… stereotypical.”

Cor knew. Oh, he knew he was nothing like the Omega everyone thought he should be, growing up. He’d run, and yelled, and played until even his Alpha peers had been exhausted. He’d broken up fights with his fists instead of words, and started a few of his own. He’d chafed and snarled and snapped when his teachers and parents tried to force him into the role of the quiet, reserved, peaceful, homebound Omega they had been expecting, until he couldn’t stand it anymore, and then he’d run, straight to the Crownsguard. 

The Crownsguard had still tried to treat him like an Omega, but at least they learned when Cor fought back.

What if the King didn’t know? What if all of this, this trip, this pack, had been because everyone assumed he was something else? Cor thinks about being forced to leave this pack, _his pack,_ and lets out a noise of _distress,_ and suddenly Wesk has him wrapped in his arms and is making soothing, reassuring _crooning_ noises at him.

“Shit,” he hears Wesk growl, and he clings to the Beta a bit harder. “Cor, no, I didn’t mean it like that. We’re not going to send you away. _No one is going to make you leave us._ ”

Cor just makes another _distressed_ noise and burrows further into Wesk’s arms, and hates his heat a little more for making him question the loyalty of his pack.

*

Cor wakes up no longer in Weskham’s arms, but instead with his head resting in Cid’s lap. The mechanic is reading again, his free hand petting through Cor’s hair, and Cor is loath to end the moment, but he’s _hungry_ again, and he can feel the painkiller’s he’d had at breakfast beginning to wear off, so he stretches out with a sound of contentment, nuzzling into Cid’s thigh, and the Beta just laughs quietly at him before dipping his fingers behind Cor’s ear, and Cor couldn’t have stopped the _purr_ of delight if he’d tried. “Look at you,” Cid says, voice laced with amusement as Cor tilts his head into the Beta’s hand. “Like a big ol’ housecat. Should be callin’ you ‘Cor the Kitten’.” Cor glares up at him, but he can’t stop _purring_ with Cid’s fingers scratching at his scalp in all the right places, and the Beta just gives him a shit eating grin for his trouble. “Reggie and Clarus are still out lookin’ for things to kill. Wesk thinks they’re tryin’ to impress you with how much they bring back.” Cor rolls his eyes. He knows displays of skill were normal for Alphas, and the instinct to provide would be high with the pack Omega in heat, but the idea that Regis and Clarus would show off for _him_ , of all people, was ridiculous. “Wesk is cookin’ up somethin’ with what I brought back.” Cid sets down his book and twists his hand as he reaches into the Armiger and pulls out – “Also found this. Only one they had.” Cor’s gaze locks in on the bag of potato chips, and he makes a sound somewhere between a hopeful croon and a warning growl. Cid laughs at him again. “Relax, I got ‘em for you. But you can’t have ‘em until Wesk has fed you, otherwise he’ll skin me alive.”

“You failed to mention you spent some of our precious funds on junk food, Sophiar.”

They both look up to see Wesk standing just outside of the tent, arms crossed and tapping his foot as he glares at the bag of potato chips as though it has personally offended him. Cid huffs and banishes the chips back into the depths of the Armiger, much to Cor’s dismay. “Comfort food doesn’t hurt you every now and then, Mother Weskham. Let the kid have a treat.”

Wesk’s lips press into a thin line as he glances over to Cor, who glares defiantly at him. Cor would have those chips, damn it. He didn’t care what Wesk said, didn’t care if he had to empty out the whole Armiger to find them. He would have them, and he would eat them, and he would stare Weskham down while doing so. Wesk sighs and shakes his head, but he makes no further comment on the chips, and Cid winks at him once his back is turned. “C’mon, kiddo. Let’s go see what ‘real food’ Wesk’s got for us.”

* 

Clarus and Regis return in the middle of lunch, and Regis takes the first opportunity he gets to plaster himself up against Cor’s side. Cor should object, because Regis reeks of sweat and blood and dirt, but he can’t quite bring himself to do so when his pack is back together around him.

Weskham, however, has no such issue, and upon receiving a list of what they managed to acquire in the field from Clarus, promptly banishes both Alphas to the nearby stream, with a firm glare and an order to ‘take your time and do it properly, or I swear to Ramuh, I’ll come down there and scrub you myself.’ Neither Alpha puts up much more than a token resistance, though Regis does stay long enough to nuzzle Cor’s shoulder apologetically. Cid rolls his eyes, Wesk mutters about hovering Alphas, and Cor feels something warm and fuzzy flare up in his chest as he watches his Alphas go.

*

It takes another three days for Cor’s heat to finish, and, if he were in a mood to be honest with himself, it’s the best heat he’s ever had. He naps, and eats, and spends time curled up with each of his pack mates in turn. None of them leave the Haven unless absolutely necessary, and never for long. They read, and talk, and plan, but mostly they pay attention to Cor, and Cor wants to be embarrassed at how much he enjoys it, but by the end he can’t be bothered.

**Author's Note:**

> Me, seeing the prompt 'helping hands' for FFXV Rare Pairs week: Oh, this will be a quick 1500 word fic, at most!
> 
> Me, over twelve hours later, staring vacantly at a Word document that has over 5000 words and is an emotional roller coaster from start to finish: Why am I not surprised...


End file.
